A Christmas Carol - with a warehousey twist
by HGWellsIsAWoman
Summary: A christmas themed fic following on from Helena's POV series 4 with our HG experiencing being in her very own Christmas ghost story.
1. Christmas Eve

OK so I know I've just started on my other AU which I will keep on top of I promise…but driving into work today listening to Christmas tunes I realised how damn well the story of 'A Christmas Carol' would work for our HG! This is just going to be a short fic, but I thought I would get on the festive band wagon. I hope you enjoy. Just a quick first chapter. I will update very soon!

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It was Christmas Eve and Helena G Wells sat alone in her workshop watching the clock as time slowly ticked by. Shortly after making home with her temporary boyfriend in Boon Helena did as she always did, shut down, pushed away all who were close to her and closed herself away into a darkened room with nothing but her inventions to surround her. The cool steel of her creations could not hurt her, people could.

HG Wells had been brought up in a harsh world, she lead a hard life and desperately mourned the loss of her child from the past long gone. Nothing in the world could have prepared the young mother for the loss of her daughter. Callously murdered in a petty robbery for nothing but money and jewels her little girl had been taken from her and that day Helena decided to shut herself off from life. Without an ounce of guilt in her heart HG sought revenge and murdered every man that had been involved with the destruction of her daughter…her life …her soul.

Driven mad with the need for vengeance Helena bronzed herself in her very own time machine to contain the hatred that emanated from her every pore. The writer despised people, despised the world and its ridiculous politics and morals. Hoping the world would be a better place the Victorian stayed still in a conscious torment for over a century until she was woken into a new world, a world she hoped would give her the peace she so desperately desired.

Helena had been mistaken. When she woke she found the world worse than she had ever imagined. Technology had advanced and with it so had wars and crimes. Desperate to destroy the tainted world that took her daughter Helena came up with a plan that would destroy every last living creature on the planet. The earth needed a fresh start and Helena had believed she was the one to do it. The plan had gone so well. That was until she met the new Warehouse Agent Myka Ophelia Bering.

Imagining the agent sent a shooting pain through the writer's chest. Myka had shown her love and understanding; she was kind and caring in a way the Victoria had never felt before. It had brought a brief release to Helena's frustrated mind and heart finding she could not destroy a world with Myka Bering in it, no matter how hard she tried not to, the writer could not help but care for the younger warehouse agent.

Confused by her feelings, her life, eventually Helena ran. Remembering her daughter, Helena could not believe she had let herself be distracted from her path. He daughter was gone and she had not protected her, she didn't deserve to be happy, so she disappeared leaving Myka Bering along way behind her.

Alone. That was how she was made to be. Watching the clock tick to 11pm Helena reminded herself to hate the world and hate all of the people in it. Christmas Eve was the worst….filled with people pretending to care for each other, pretending everything was ok when the world was in ruins. Helena G Wells would not partake; she planned to shut herself away until the New Year began. The Victorian wanted nothing to do with Christmas and its false cheer.

Pushing herself from her desk the writer's chair screeched angrily across the cold wooden floor. The apartment she rented felt cold...the Victorian liked it like that. The heating was off…the colder the writer felt the better….anything to numb the feelings inside.

Helena dragged herself up the stairs towards her bedroom, she was going to sleep. With any luck she would sleep through the whole of Christmas…or even better perhaps she would not wake at all.

With the lights switched firmly off Helena allowed the darkness of her room to surround her, as she sat in her dusty leather arm chair the only light was that of a small flame flickering from an old candle. The darkness was the writer's friend; it always had been, it helped her to remain hidden, not just from other people, but from herself.

Feeling dozy the writer began to drift into an uncomfortable half sleep. Helena couldn't remember the last time she actually slept for a whole night. Somewhere in her subconscious she heard the clock on her far shelf chime on the midnight hour.

Groggily the writer shut her eyes tight attempting to close off even the simple tick of her clock from her mind. The writer wanted to be left in peace. Silence. That is how she liked it. Falling back into her tormented rest little did the Victorian know that she was about to be in for a very rude awakening.


	2. Ghouls in Chains

Thanks for reading guys. I have to thank Mr Charles Dickens (genius) for his ideas…any quotes directly from the book 'a Christmas Carol' I have put in italics below. I hope you enjoy.

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Head lolling against the back of her armchair Helena groaned as once again her frustrated sleep was interrupted. Behind her closed bedroom door, far down the corridor, the writer's keen ears picked up on an unfamiliar sound that resembled anchor chains clinking against her solid floor.

Twisting quickly towards the noise the writer sat mentally racking in her mind for an explanation to the growing clinks and clanks approaching her bedroom. Was it the pipes? It couldn't be, she had the heating switched off….the water hadn't been run for hours… the only explanation was that somebody was in her house.

Running to door Helena threw the heavy bolts across the wooden frame and stood back convinced her excessive security measures would keep out whatever moved upon her landing.

The noise grew louder; scraping metal against wood set the writer's teeth on edge. An alien low mumbling moan caused the fine hair on her pale neck to stick up on end. Was she going mad, had she finally snapped?

Taking a step back towards her chair Helena's jaw dropped open when an invisible force threw open the bolts that separated her from the noises beyond the barrier.

The bedroom door began to open. The first thing the writer noticed was a deathly white transparent hand reaching into her room. Scrabbling back over her jelly legs the Victorian fell back hard into her arm chair.

Attached to the translucent hand was what looked like an old man bound in heavy chains, so heavy the metal strained against the pale creatures skin causing strange distortions that surely weren't humanly possible. Helena did not believe in ghosts…but in that moment her previous beliefs were being truly tested. The writer rubbed her eyes and blinked, could she be hallucinating?

The spectre moved forward toward the wide eyed Victorian. As the man drew nearer Helena could see the figure's neck was wrapped in bandages. The white rope like material seemed to wrap entirely around the things face tying itself into a bow on top the creatures head like a macabre Christmas parcel.

'Stay back!' The Victorian choked out the first command that came to mind.

The ghoulish figure did as she pleaded, reached for the hideous ribbon atop his wobbling head and pulled the bow loose. With the bandages free the old man's bottom jaw dropped open, dislocating into a horrifyingly lower level than what a real man's should.

The creature spoke in a gravelly warbled tone, the sound was like nothing the writer had ever heard on earth. 'Helena you shrink away like you do not know me?!'

The Victorian could not decide whether to reply, if she did surely she would spin further into her dark madness.

'Dear woman answer when you are spoken to!' The ghost began to convulse and shake its chains in annoyance, a terrible cry uttered from its hollow throat.

'I do not know who or what you are!' Helena cried out desperate to quiet the abomination in front of her.

'You mean to tell me you do not recognise your own brother?' The ghost cried out once more. The sound was mournful and harrowing.

'Charles?... This cannot be real…I must be dreaming?' The writer literally pinched her skin hard. It hurt, she was surely awake.

'Yes dear sister, it is I. Though I fear my weary face and chains make me barely recognisable to you.'

Helena looked into the sunken spirit's eyes; they did indeed have the same glint as that of her brother Charles.

'Dear God what has become of you?' Helena's voice was practically a whisper.

'Never mind me dear sister. _I wear the chain I forged in life...I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it._ It is you we must be concerned about now.' If it was possible Helena could have sworn the spectre's features slightly softened

Helena looked at her brother feeling a great sadness, she had always wondered what had become of Charles and she did not like what she saw. '_You have my sympathy_.'

'_Ah! You do not know the weight and length of strong chain you bear yourself! It was as full and as long as this seven Christmas eves ago and you have laboured on it since. Ah, it is a ponderous chain_!' The ghost smirked with his loose hanging jaw.

'I see no chains Charles.' Helena scowled at the apparition and lifted her arms.

'You will not sweet sister. Not until it is too late.' The ghost rasped and coughed as he began to laugh.

'Bollocks! This is nothing but my mind processing the sins of my past. You are not real!' Helena practically growled her response feeling like she must be truly descending into madness.

'My stupid, ignorant sister. You're stubbornness and persistence will only forge you harsher chains. Look at your life Helena…what do you have?…who do you have?…nothing. If you think this is bad….just wait until the day you meet your maker.' The ghost laughed again his jaw practically splitting from his face.

'I need no one! I do not care what happens to me…whatever I get in death I will surely deserve. Leave me. I do not need your threats.' The writer spat angrily against the cruel promises of the spectre.

'Very well Helena.'The ghost shook. '...but sister ….You Always stood by me and regardless of your contempt for your own life, I will persevere and do what is within my limited power to help you escape my fate. _You will be haunted by Three Spirits_**.'**

'_I think I'd rather not_**.' **The Victorian smirked sarcastically.

'_Without their visits,' said the Ghost, 'you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first when the bell tolls one.'_

'_Couldn't I take `em all at once, and have it over_, Charles?" Helena couldn't help but still mock the apparition still half convinced it was all nothing but her mind creating the ridiculous scenario.

The spectre continued**, '**_Expect the second on the next hour. The third upon the next when the last stroke has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us_!' With that as the ghost's final word the ghoul retied his jaw back to its original position, its teeth clamping tightly shut with a clatter. No further word was uttered by the spectre. Silently the apparition walked clanking its chains to the sash window. It turned, looked the Victorian in the eye, and then pushed itself over the windowsill and silently backwards over the edge into darkness.

Helena ran to the closed glass. The spectre had fallen right through it. There was no further sign of the ghostly figure.

The Victorian checked the clock on her mantel piece once more. 12.30. Had she been dreaming for the last half hour?! Shaking her head the writer dragged herself into bed. Not bothering to undress she kicked off her shoes and climbed under the duvet fully clothed. To hell with spirits and dreams. The writer always knew one day she would drive herself to the lunatic asylum, it seemed tonight would be the beginning of her descent into madness. Convincing herself the image of brother was nothing more than her raving mind; the writer shut her eyes and closed of the world for the last time.


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Past

Thanks guys for taking the time to read this one….I have to admit…I'm quite enjoying writing this… bit of a fan of a chritmas carol (just so you all know for future reference…Myka is not going to have cancer in this fic…I hate that she does in warehouse so it's my fic and I'm going to make the big C none existent...hope that's ok :-) ) ...and I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

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'Mother…mother …wake up.'

Helena rocked gently in her half sleep and mumbled a response. 'Christina…go back to bed...CHRISTINA?!' Realising what she heard in her subconscious state Helena woke up from her bed with a start. That voice, it had sounded so real.

Rubbing her eyes the Victorian heard the small voice whistle like a faint wind against her right ear again. 'Mother are you awake now?'

Helena turned to her right and choked at the sight of the vision in front of her. There, sat close to the pillow on the other side of her bed was her daughter. All the colour and warmth and gone from her child's face but sure enough it was her.

'Christina?' Helena reached out tentatively towards the figure of the child; her hand went straight through the pale figure. Gasping the writer retreated to the other side of her bed.

'_Who and what are you_? You are not my daughter!' Afraid of what she saw Helena shrunk back against the wall.

'Don't be afraid Mother.' The ghostly child floated forward. '_I am the ghost of Christmas past._'

'_Long past?_' Helena's voice was meek.

'_Your past.'_ The child replied. 'I am here to take you on a short journey.

'and what if I refuse to go with you?' Helena stepped back further.

'Mother why do you shrink away from me? Take my hand and we will visit the first destination you must venture to this very night.' The gentle spirit reached out with her dainty hand. 'Please.' The child urged the terrified woman to comply.

'Christina…is it really you.' The Victorian's heart hammered in her chest, the lump in her throat threatened to choke out all sound.

'I am but an imprint of you daughter long gone summoned to help you this Christmas Eve. Come, let me show you a Christmas you have chosen to forget.' The spirit closed in on the writer hovering a foot apart.

Helena's eyes darted across the child. It looked so much like her Christina….sounded like her….even smelt of her. The writer couldn't resist to do anything but take the spirit's hand.

Suddenly the ground seemed to fall beneath the writer's feet as her surroundings began to toss, turn and distort around her. Helena closed her eyes and waited for gravity to return. When she felt her feet land safely back on the ground HG Wells opened her eyes and gasped. The writer was stood in front of her old London Town House just as it was in 1897. The streets were covered ankle deep in snow and candle light shone from her living room window. Helena felt a tear prick the corner of her eye as nostalgia washed through her.

'Come.' The ghost child ushered the writer towards the house. Without going through front door suddenly Helena found herself standing in her old living room. The smell of oranges and cinnamon filled her senses. An enormous tree stood tall by the large window in the room and shone bright like a beacon with present's beneath.

A child's squeal came from the kitchen behind her and within seconds Christina looking exactly as her Mother remembered came running through the door.

'Christina!' Helena called out.

'She cannot hear you Mother. You can see the past but you cannot change or interact with it. Just watch and remember.' The pale version of her child instructed the quivering writer.

The vibrant colourful Christina planted herself beneath the large Christmas tree and began shaking the numerous presents. 'Mother! Come quick….Father Christmas has been.'

Within moments Helena was face to face with a younger version of herself as the past Helena joined her daughter in the room. The writer stared at her old face, it was free of worry and stress….my how she had aged since the day playing our before her.

The past Helena ran to her little girl and plastered her in kisses. 'Darling…how lucky you seem to have been! Surely these cannot all be for you?!' The past Christina wrapped her arms around her Mother. 'This is going to be my favourite Christmas yet….I can just tell!'

Helena watched at the scene unfolding before her eyes, the memory stirred emotions she had tried to hide away from for years. The Victorian's heart thudded against her rib cage as she watched her past self play delightfully with her daughter. Christina pulled out a wooden pop gun and giggled when the cork shot out and bopped her mother in the centre of her forehead. The past Helena whipped up her daughter from the ground and tickled her daughter until she was in a fit of laughter.

The writer watching the scene couldn't help but smile at the forgotten memory. Happiness filled her as she remembered that wonderful Christmas day. The Victorian turned to the spirit and was instantly awash with sadness as her eyes focused on those of the small spirit child. Her daughter was dead….how could she forget so easily…darkness filled her heart once more.

The spirit of her child spoke softly. 'Do not be afraid to remember Mother. These are the memories that should be allowed to live in your heart instead of the ones with wrapped in anger and vengeance you seem to hold so dearly. Let them go and remember me how I wish to be remembered.'

Helena looked back at the beautiful scene as the happy mother and child played with toys and hunted for the treats scattered amongst the tall Chritmas tree. She had so easily forgotten these beautiful years she had spent with her child. 'I will never be that happy again.' The writer let her eyes fall to the ground.

'Stubborn, sweet Mother…how easily you forget.' The ghost took the writer's had and instantly they were transported to a more modern scene. They were outside the Warehouse agents B&B.

Helena cried out in anguish at the loss of her beautiful memory. 'Take me back!' The writer demanded of the spirit.

'Mother you do not need to go back. It's all in there.' The spirit pointed towards the writer's chest. 'You just have to allow yourself to remember.'

'Come.' The ghost child pulled the writer forward. 'Let me remind you of a more recent Christmas you have also forgotten.'

Within seconds Helena and the ghost of Christmas past were in the dining room of the B&B, all of the warehouse agents sat around the table laughing and joking merrily with each other. It was Helena's first Christmas at the warehouse; the writer's eyes darted straight to Myka. The writer also spotted her slightly younger self sat next to the brunette curly haired agent …her past set of eyes were also trans- fixed by the glowing brunette.

Helena's heart began to thud as it did before. Myka Bering, her one weakness in the modern world somehow had managed to steal her broken heart. The time travelling Helena watched and listened to the interaction between her old self and the younger agent…..

'Myka Bering I do believe you are flirting with me.' The past Helena dabbed the brunette's nose with chocolate sauce.

'What?!' Myka giggled…'I am doing no such thing….the only one flirting is you!' Myka blushed beautifully removing the chocolatey smudge.

'Would you like me to stop darling?' The writer leaned into the younger agent.

'Do you want to stop?' Myka tried to hedge around the answer.

'I'll take that as no.' Helena let her foot brush against the brunette's.

'Helena Wells you are complete cad do you know that? My mother would be shocked and appalled if I were to take you home.' Myka suddenly bit her lip nervous she had spoken out of turn.

The writer raised an eyebrow. 'So you have thought about taking me home to meet the parents? Not many would dare.' Helena laughed enjoying the younger agents growing blush.

'I didn't mean….I mean…I just meant…oh forget it. You make me so tongue tied.' The American held her cool hands to her hot cheeks.

'Myka.' The younger Helena held the brunette's green eyes with her own. 'May I give you a gift?' The brunette noted the serious change in the brit's tone.

'I …um ..of course you may.' Myka smiled slightly embarrassed.

The writer pulled a leather box from her pocket and passed it to the brunette.

Myka untied the simple red ribbon and opened the box; inside the velvet lining contained a solid gold intricately carved bangle.

'It was the first thing I bought when I started earning money of my own. I wanted something to remind myself that a woman could make it a man's world. I …want you to have it.' The past Helena looked nervously at the younger agent.

'Helena …my god it's so beautiful. I can't accept this.'

'Yes…you can…it should be worn by someone beautiful.' The writer reached into the box, took the bangle and gently clasped into around the brunette's delicate wrist. 'Perfect.' Both agents gazed at each other with glistening eyes oblivious to the others sat staring around them.

…

The spirit touched her Helena intently watching scene and in a blizzard of snow they both landed outside in a familiar neighbourhood.

'What are you doing!' Helena cried out tears streaming down her face….'Take me back to Myka!'

'I have.' The ghost answered simply and pointed towards the nearest suburban house.

'Why have you brought me here?' Helena strode furiously towards the scene she had tried to shut out of her mind forever. The writer found herself gazing upon Nate's house and the moment she said goodbye to Myka for the last time.

'You are here Mother to learn what your foolish heart has allowed you to lose.' The spirit clicked her fingers and immediately they were at Myka's side.

'I wish you and Nate every happiness Helena.' The young agent climbed into her SUV leaving the past vision of Helena alone on the sidewalk in front of her new home.

'I do not wish to look.' Helena spoke to the spirit and turned away. 'This day was hard enough for me doing it once….let alone having to live through it twice.'

'Why did you do it then Mother? Why did you let the only person you have ever learned to love slip through your fingers?' The ghost pushed the writer for an answer.

'I'm saving her….saving her from me…she is better off far away from my terrible life.' The writer let the tears run freely down her cheeks once more.

'You are foolish and selfish Mother….did you not consider that it was not only your heart you were breaking that day.' The spirit urged the writer to look at Myka's grief stricken face.

'She does not need me Christina! Nobody needs me.' Helena grew angrier with the spirit.

'She does not need you Mother…she wants you.' In another blizzard of motion the spirit touched the writer's hand and they were suddenly in the SUV with Myka and Pete. Helena had not seen this version of the event….

'Mykes are you ok?' Pete spoke softly to the brunette.

'Sure…why wouldn't I be?' Myka sniffed and brushed a stray tear away with the sleeve of her shirt.

'You know HG…she'll come around. She's not made for this pretend life …she's a warehouse agent.' Pete tried to console his obviously upset partner.

'I'm not sure Pete. That look in her eyes… it was a final goodbye…I don't think we will see her again.' Myka looked out of her window tears running freely.

Helena watched silently her own tears brimming along her dark eyes. 'Spirit take me home. I cannot bear to watch any more. The deed is done…I cannot change my past….you said it yourself.'

Helena watched and practically sobbed out loud when she saw the young agent touch the gold bangle on her wrist. The writer reached out to stroke the brunette's head; she yearned to console the young agent. It was no use, she was part of another dimension, although she sat but a foot away the writer was a world apart from Myka.

The ghost of Christmas Past reached out to Helena one last time. In an instant they were back in writer's dark apartment, the clock on the mantel piece read 12.54am.

'For a time traveller Mother you are not using your brain very well. Your past is set in stone…. but your future….that is another question best fit for the spirits yet to come.' The ghost child stood silently watching the writer sniff and try to regain her composure.

'I must leave now Mother.' The spirit took a step back.

'Please Christina…do not leave me again.' Helena fell to her knees.

'I am not leaving. I am always with you Mother… but I do not wish you to remember me as you have been. Remember me as we sat beneath that Christmas tree…remember my life…not my death.' The spirit walked forward and laid a gentle kiss upon the writer's forehead.

Helena closed her eyes sure she could feel the feather light touch of her daughter. The next moment the writer opened her eyes the spirit was gone.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Present

Before the writer could catch her breath the clock chimed twice. From the adjoining room light filtered through the gaps of the closed door and a bellowing laugh reverberated through the wood.

Creeping forward Helena wiped the stray tears from her eyes and cautiously peeped into the newly occupied room.

'Come in!' The new spirit boomed in a cheery voice '_Come in and know me better _girl.'

Helena did as she was told. The jolly voice summoning her belonged to broad tall man dressed in a red silken robe hung with holly leaves.

_'What are you_?' Helena took a step further forward; this spirit she did not fear...his attire and voice were merry and bright. The writer didn't recognise the hearty man but despite the full head of brown hair and bushy matching beard she couldn't help but notice the slight resemblance to a certain Pete Lattimer.

'What am I? Hoho! Helena one as smart as you should be able to figure that out! I am the ghost of Christmas present.' The happy spirit bowed and offered the sleeve of his great robe to the writer.

'Let us make haste dear girl...we must travel to this very Christmas morning.' The second spirit wrapped his heavy arm around the petite brit and in an instant she found herself back in the warehouse agents B&B.

'Spirit... I have been here tonight already.' Helena pulled away from the ghost and surged forward into the B&B dining room. Heart pounding the writer looked to see the beautiful memory she had been privy to earlier that night.

Sure enough the warehouse agents were gathered around their large table, an enormous roast turkey taking centre stage. Her old friends drank wine and laughed seemingly without a care in the world.

The brit sighed to herself, a warm glow tingling in her belly. 'They look so happy and content.' Helena spoke wistfully to the spirit.

'Helena are you so blind?' The jolly ghost pointed his hand towards the farthest end of the table. There sat in the same place as Helena's previous memory was Myka...this time the chair next to her was empty.

Helena watched the brunette intently as Myka listened quietly to the happy jokes and stories her friends yelled out around the table.

The writer walked forward and sat invisible in the empty chair. Studiously she watched the brunette's beautiful face...Helena saw something unrecognisable in the once sparkling green eyes. Like a cloudy haze the brunette seemed to have lost her glimmer; the delicious bright green like a light being turned off had grown duller.

Inches apart from the younger agents face Helena felt her stomach flip. How she longed to feel and taste Myka's soft pink lips. The writer's breath caught in her throat as Myka looked right at her. It was as if the brunette knew she was there.

The moment was quickly stolen from the writer when Pete called out from across the table.

'Hey Mykes ! What do you want to make a Christmas toast for? '

It was a game the agents played every year. Each one would toast to the future, each trying to better the others last statement. Myka was the last to go.

'I don't know Pete ...I don't think I have one this year.' Myka looked down at her plate and pulled her hands into her lap.

'Aww come on Mykes…. it's Christmas.' Pete gently encouraged his best friend to join in with the fun.

Myka pushed her sleeve back and subconsciously played with the gold bangle on her wrist; an action that Helena's keen eye could not fail to notice.

Myka gave in and cleared her throat. 'I would like to make a toast to all my friends and family...you are the only things that stop me from going insane. Thank you for being so wonderful…. and I wish you every luck and happiness for the new year...' The toast was kind of typical but Myka felt she had said the things her friends wanted to hear. Feeling the bangle heavy around her wrist Myka continued... ' I would also like a toast to Helena, wherever she may be...' The agent gulped and looked at the empty space next to her completely unaware the Victorian was right at her side...'Although HG feels she cannot be a part of our family any longer...I wish her every happiness...'The agent started to lose track of what she was saying as tears welled in her eyes...'Sure she may not give a damn how about me...us...but I hope she gets everything she wants out of life...and if she feels she can only do it as far away from here as possible so bloody well be it !' Myka raised her glass to her silenced fellow agents. Drinking the full glass of red wine in one shot the brunette fled the room her cheeks flushed.

Helena stood invisible from the hushed crowd. 'Spirit...please take me to Myka.'

Silently the merry ghost wrapped his cloak around Helena. When the spirit pulled the heavy material away they were in Helena's old bedroom at the B&B. Everything still lay exactly as she had left it...all accept for the sobbing body on her bed.

Helena ran to Myka's side and knelt on the floor by the beautiful agents face.

'Spirit...I ...I want to console her.' Helena whispered hurt deeply by what she saw. It killed her that she was the source of so much pain to the younger agent.

'Helena ... Did you not consider this when you closed off your heart?' The spirit's voice was deep and calm.

'I didn't think...I didn't realise...' Helena couldn't find the words.

The writer watched as the younger agent curled herself into a tight ball on her old bed. Myka clamped a cushion against her chest and inhaled the soft pillow beneath her face desperate to find her lost agents scent.

'Oh Myka...I'm so sorry.' Helena's heart cracked as she watched the younger agent weep.

'Spirit... I cannot describe the regret I feel. Thank you for showing me this...I will forever burn this sight into my eyes as a punishment for my selfishness.' Helena looked desperately at the spectre.

Exasperated the ghost bellowed rising his arms into the air. 'Helena Wells this is not why I show you this ! You are a stubborn fool... I pray the next spirit will be able to lead you onto the correct path.'

Helena rose unsteady, for the first time she feared the jolly spirit.

Almost in synch Myka sat from the bed, pulled the gold bangle from her wrist and threw it using every last bit of strength in her. The bracelet soared straight through the invisible writer and smashed into a mirror on the nearby dresser. Before the writer could see anymore she found herself whisked away into darkness.

The jolly old spirit peered down at the fallen writer his beard and hair now frightfully white with age.

'Foolish child. I shall leave you now...the third spirit will be with you soon.' In gust of wind the ghost disappeared leaving Helena alone upon the desolate wasteland she now found herself in.


	5. The Ghost of Christmas yet to Come

Hi guys, thanks so so much for reading. Really glad you are enjoying this…I have to admit…it's been a real fun one to write. Only one chapter to go after this…as before anything in italics are direct quotes from Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol.' I hope you enjoy….

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Rubbing her cold hands against her arms Helena tried to warm herself against the bitter chill that seemed to fill the air. Looking into the distance the writer could see a small 16th century church and crooked little graveyard, other than that everything around her was bleak grey nothingness.

The writer looked into the air and raised a fist. 'Spirit, why do you leave me here! ?' Frustrated Helena turned on the spot ready to march until she came to something…anywhere….she wanted to be out of the cold desolate place she had been abandoned in.

Turning fast on her heels Helena found herself blockaded immediately by a tall looming figure. The creature forcing her to stop sent chills through her spine. _It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand._Darkness oozed from every inch of being that distinctly resembled what Helena knew to be the grim reaper.

The Victorian stumbled back and fell onto the cold hard ground. The mysterious spectre filled the writer with solemn dread.

_"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?" _Helena raised an eyebrow nervously awaiting confirmation.

The spirit stayed silent but raised its cloaked arm.

'_You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,' _Helena pursued…._ 'Is that so, Spirit?' _

The entity did not move another inch and continued to point in a direction leading further into mist and fog.

The breath caught in the back of the writer's throat, she did not want to follow the path with this entity.

'_Ghost of the Future!'_ the writer exclaimed, '_I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another woman from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?'_

Silence reverberated through the shaking Victorian, never in her life had she felt more afraid….accept, she thought to herself, the moment she said her goodbyes to Myka that day in Boon. She had been afraid for them both… and what hurt the writer more was that she had created that moment of her own free will. In an instant the walls surrounding the writer's heart began to slowly crumble as she remembered that terrible memory in her and Myka's past. Realisation struck the brit…she had done to herself what she truly feared the most. Losing Myka.

Feeling succinctly beaten Helena hung her head and spoke to the silent spirit. _'__Lead on. The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me._ I am starting to understand that now. _Lead on, Spirit."_

Without a single sound the spirit moved towards the misty pathway, the writer followed keeping her distance from the dark entity. Amongst the mist the moisture in the air clung to Helena's skin and clothing, it was cool and uncomfortable but also somewhat cleansing.

At the other side of the foggy path Helena found herself in a bright lush green field. Myka, the agent she had lost and now deeply yearned for sat beneath an old oak tree. New lines had formed across the younger agents face and the brunette's sparking eyes were now a little duller and wiser from what the writer remembered.

Helena studied the other woman, the vision could not be much further into the future but still her Myka certainly had stress etched across her brow. _Her Myka. _The writer replayed her last thought. How could she call the other agent her own when she had so hastily turned the younger woman away that day? She had no right…but …the writer began the slivering's of plan…perhaps one day it might be different.

The vision of future Myka stood from her earthen seat. The beautiful brunette wore a slim line black suit with her straightened hair tied back into a smart bun. The writer thought it was quite odd the agent should be out in the countryside in such formal attire.

Without having to walk barely a pace the eerie spirit whisked itself and Helena to Myka's side further down the grassy green hill. The writer found herself in a small graveyard lined with crumbling tomb stones, a gaping freshly dug hole the centrepiece of the picture. Helena recognised a few members of the warehouse team stood around the earthy edges. Myka took a central spot next to Pete overlooking the bottom of the pit.

The writer could not see the coffin that lay inside the chasm but a feeling deep in her gut told her it was someone significant to her. Eyes wide and intense the writer listened to the conversation her old friends made hoping to pick up a clue to as to whom the fresh tomb belong….

Pete took his best friends hand, keeping his eyes on the dirt strewn hole he spoke to the brunette. 'How you doing there Mykes?...or is that a really stupid question?'

The curly haired agent grimaced. 'I'm ok…. I think. I don't know…. I feel weird.'

Pete gently urged his friend to continue with a squeeze of his hand.

'It's hard to explain.' Myka took a gulp of air. 'I feel like I've lost this incredible chunk of myself …yet it's something I never really…truly…had in the first place to lose.'

Pete took off his sunglasses and looked at the brunette catching sight of a stray tear. 'Myka…you did have it…you did have her. Things just didn't go as smoothly as they should….'

The brunette interrupted her pal letting go of his warm hand. 'No Pete…It really didn't …it was always over before it even begun. I blame myself really…maybe if I had fought harder it wouldn't have come to this…she wouldn't have been alone when it happened.'

Pete pulled the brunette into a hug as Myka began to weep. 'Oh Mykes. Don't say that…none of this is your fault. Look at me…. You have done nothing wrong.' The broad shouldered guy pulled his sobbing friends in close.

…

Helena watched the gut wrenching scene unfold with sincerity and confusion. Who was this person Myka mourned….a new lover perhaps? …a friend?...family? My how she yearned to be in Pete's position comforting the woman she loved. Yes, she did love Myka more than anything in the world and it hurt unbearably to see her love for the third time that night go through such anguish.

'Spirit who is it that Myka mourns over?' Helena spoke her lips set in a sombre line. Whoever this person was she would find them and save them from their fate. The writer decided she would do everything in her power to prevent Myka from having to be at the graveside in front of her.

'Speak spirit!' Helena grew tired of the silence. 'Who is it my friends speak of!' Anger simmered in the writer's blood.

Lifting its slender arm the spirit pointed back towards the brunette and her best friend.

Seething Helena could do nothing but continue watching the scene unfold…..

Future Myka wiped away her tears and rolled back her jackets sleeves. Kneeling to the ground she ran her fingers through the loose dirt. Gathering a handful of earth the brunette threw the first scattering of soil onto the coffin hidden from Helena's view.

'May you finally rest in peace sweetheart.' The term of endearment snuck accidently from Myka's lips jolting her back into another fit of tears. Blinded by the salty stream running from her eyes the young agent grasped the familiar gold bangle from her wrist, brought it to her lips, kissed it, and then gently tossed it into the pit at her feet.

Eyes wide with horror Helena tried to run to the brunette but found her feet glued firmly to the ground. Surely this did not mean what she thought it did…it couldn't….could it? 'Spirit let me go! I must help her…I need to be with her…I need Myka!' Helena screamed at the tops of her lungs….her throat going horse.

The sombre dark spectre loomed over the anger stricken writer and drowned out the Victorian's yells in a cloak of heavy black. When the spirit moved away Helena stopped her ranting and spotted she was back in the previous desolate landscape. It seemed familiar now.

The silent ghoul pointed towards the desolate graveyard in the distance and in an instant Helena was transported to the entrance of the hallowed grounds. The writer took in her surroundings more carefully, things were a little skewed as night had fallen but she realised exactly where she was. The Victorian tentatively took a few steps and passed through the gate. She was at the very same site in which Myka had been stood upon the open grave just a few minutes ago. The graveyard was no longer light and green. The sky was black and overcast, the grave stones dusty and worn with age as high grass raced to cover every last inch of surface.

Helena looked back at the ghoul. 'What?! Spectre…what do you want me to do?! Please speak to me.'

The spirit ignored the writer's desperate please and pointed its white bony finger towards the grave in question.

Helena inched towards the head stone her knees trembling. _'__Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,'_ Helena gulped….. '"_Answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?'_

_Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it _now_ stood._

Helena crept towards the stone and looked up at the spirit. 'The future will change….I of all people know one can alter ones fate.' As the writer spoke her voice cracked revealing the uncertainty in her tone.

The sprit looked down as immovable as ever.

Kneeling so her eyes were level with the gravestone the writer revealed the name engraved on the hard material with one wretched sweep of her arm. '_HELENA G WELLS'_

The Victorian ground her teeth in defiance biting back her undeserving tears. 'Spirit!' The writer clutched at the creatures robe, '_hear me. I am not the _woman_ I was. I will not be the _woman _I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?'_

For the first time the spectre's hand appeared to shake.

'Good Spirit.' Helena clung tighter to the black robe. _'__Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life.' _Helena glanced back her name etched into the stone.

'I will make amends with Myka…I will follow my true heart. _I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!" _Helena wept freely. The words she spoke she meant sincerely from the bottom of her soul. She would change. How could she not after all she had seen.

Clinging to the spectres cloak Helena found the black surround her face and before another tear could fall she found herself upon her bed alone in her bedroom.

In a state of shock the writer felt all around her body, was this real….could she truly be home?

The clock on her mantel piece read 6.30am….the writer how no clue however of what day or month it maybe…how long had she been with the three spirits?!

Oblivious to her dishevelled state the Victorian ran from her room, thundered down her staircase and flew out of her front door towards the nearest newsstand.

'What's to-day?' Helena spoke hastily to the paper boy.

'Pardon me mam?' The boy looked confused.

'_What's to-day, my fine fellow?' _Helena waited intent for an answer,

'_To-day?' replied the boy. 'Why, Christmas Day.'_

_"It's Christmas Day!" _ Helena spoke to herself_. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can.' _The writer began to ramble as a plan filled her mind.

'Thank you dear boy…thank you so much.' Helena pressed a twenty pound note into the boys hand and ran back to her door. 'Oh' The writer turned back …. 'Merry Christmas!' Helena waved and ran back into her house. She felt as light as feather, a heavy burden now lifted from her shoulders. She would not live only in the past, she would do as she said and embody all three, past, present and future. She would keep only the fond memories of Christina and allow herself to finally live freely. At last she could breathe again.

Hurriedly the Victorian packed her meagre belongings into her one suitcase. She had been travelling light since she left the warehouse. The writer checked her watch, 7.00am, she had taken only twenty minutes to pack up her life. Grabbing her car keys hanging from a lonely hook the Victorian charged to her frosted vehicle.

With a surge of joy enveloping her heart the writer had the window screen cleared in moments, she had so little time to make it across the country to South Dakota but she knew she could do it…she would do it….she would get back to Myka before Christmas Day was out. She had to! As her future changes so would she change Myka's!

Foot hard on the gas Helena hit the roads with a constant chant ringing in her brain '_I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!' _Helena repeated the line over and over._ "The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.' _Helena watched her speedometer move up to 70 as she hit the highway; there was no stopping her now. 'Thank you spirits…Charles and my darling, darling, Christina… I understand what I must do …and I shall. Hold on Myka! I'm coming home.'


	6. A new woman

Thank you so much for all of you joining me on this Christmassy bandwagon…here is the last chapter. Thank you for reading…I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Helena could feel her pulse quicken as she pulled up her hand break and parked outside of the Warehouse B&B. She had made it in record time. Gazing at the dash board the time read 3.10pm, the agents would still be enjoying their Christmas lunch just as Helena had seen with The Ghost of Christmas Present. This time however…. she would really be there, not just a distant onlooker but a present person in the room. HG Wells was a few metres away from changing her future.

Standing outside the car the writer shivered…not from the cold, it was her nerves. What if Myka didn't want to see her anymore? Was it too late already? Surely the spirits wouldn't have shown her all they had if she could not change what she had seen that very night.

Sucking in as much oxygen as her lungs could hold Helena cleared her head of thoughts and knocked on the B&B door. There was no answer so the writer knocked once more. Again there was no reply but the sounds of laughter could be heard emanating from the other side of the wooden barrier.

Tentatively Helena touched the cold door handle. It was unlocked.

Quietly the writer stepped across the threshold into the B&B and made the same journey she had made in her vision that very night. Helena stopped at the closed dining room door, blood thundered through her ears as her heart pounded louder and harder within her chest. Of everything the writer had ever done this one was one of the scariest moments, she was about to put herself out there and wear her heart on her sleeve for all to see.

The Victorian gulped and knocked. The dining room beyond suddenly fell silent.

Running her hands nervously through her hair the writer held her breath and pushed forward into the next room. The sight that greeted her would certainly have made a fantastic picture as all the warehouse agents gawped at her with shocked awe splattered across their faces.

'I …uh…hi…' Helena made a meagre wave gesture feeling completely at a loss for words.

'HG?' Claudia was the first to rise. 'What the frack are you doing here?!' The drunken red head stumbled forward and wrapped her arms around the writer in a big bear hug.

Feeling as stiff as a board the Victorian was concerned about the person in the room she cared most about. Myka's expression was impossible to read. Was she mad? Happy? For once in her life Helena couldn't work it out.

'I'm here to see…um…Myka actually…..i …uhh if she…I mean if you want to see …me.' The normally perfectly eloquent writer found herself stumble over her words as she caught Myka's green eyed gaze.

'I would say it seems I have no choice over whether I see you Helena….as there you stand.' Myka half smiled as she spoke calmly to the nerve shattered writer.

'Ah yes! I see I haven't really given you much choice have I.' Helena looked at her feet not noticing a small smile slip across the brunettes face as she shook her head. Myka had never seen the writer look so lost and unsure of herself.

'Never the less….' Helena would not be defeated. 'May I be so bold as to ask for you a moment of your time ?'

The writer's black eyes captured Myka's….how could she refuse. Myka pondered over her response for a few seconds, before she dared for more behind the reason of Helena's return she would tread cautiously.

'Sure.' The American shrugged unmoving from her position. The on looking warehouse agents making a perfectly silent audience.

'I…uh…perhaps we could go to another room?' Helena gestured back towards the door.

'No thank you, I am quite comfortable.' Myka still felt hurt over the incident in Boon, she would not let the writer off that lightly. 'Whatever you have to say go ahead….the others don't mind…do you?'

The surrounding agents quietly shook their heads in synch feeling distinctly stuck in the middle.

Helena bit her lip. Myka always did have that stubborn streak…just another thing she loved about the brunette.

'Very well.' The writer tried her best to compose herself, she hadn't planned on having such a large audience for this ..but whatever Myka wanted she would surely do.

'Myka.' The writer tried to blur out the others and focused only on her warehouse agent…. ' I have come here today to express my sincerest apologies for my latest behaviour. I have been selfish and my manor has been inexcusable.' Helena kept her eyes locked on the beautiful brunettes emerald green orbs. 'I have been foolish… and I have run away from the one thing I want most in this world….and I fear my mistakes may not be undoable…. but I must try.'

Myka visibly gulped and waited for the writer to continue.

'Myka Bering' Helena continued her speech to her agent and audience. ' I am so incredibly sorry for everything I have done that has hurt you… more sorry in fact than you may realise…because…actually' Helena took a deep breath, this was it, it was now or never. The writer continued '….I am in fact… completely and utterly head over heels in love with you...and I couldn't think of any better day to tell you …or reason not to tell you.'

Helena fell silent as she looked around at the stunned audience surrounding her.

Myka could feel a flush of heat in her cheeks. Had she really just heard what she thought she heard? The brunette felt her legs go weak, she wanted to stand…say something….do anything….but she couldn't…, she was frozen solid.

The writer waited patiently for a response. Nothing. Myka wasn't even shouting at her….she just sat in silence. Helena was sure her heart stopped as the disappointment weighed deep in her stomach.

'I'm sorry Myka. I shouldn't have presumed ….' Helena's voice cracked. For once in her life she was at a complete loss for words.

Turning on her heels the Victorian prepared to flee the room, she could feel her friend's eyes burning into her back.

Myka watched in a stupor brain telling her to do something. She was in shock…utterly flabbergasted by Helena's honest and frank confession. After years of tiptoeing around the subject, flirtatious glances, innuendo…the woman she cared about most just blurted out to the world that she was in love with her!

Pete watched his best friend with amusement. He knew that this moment was the day Myka Bering had been waiting for since their first trip to England and meeting the HG Wells. He would be damned if he let his silly best friend miss her moment. Trying to catch his friend's attention Pete kicked his favourite agent hard under the table.

Woken from her hypnosis Myka frowned at Pete and rubbed her shin. The cheeky chap just grinned at his frowning best friend and nodded in Helena's direction. Myka felt the heat rise to her cheeks once more. With shaking legs and butterflies fluttering in her chest the brunette managed to stand.

Feeling crushed and rejected Helena reached for her exit when a voice from behind made her freeze.

'Leaving so soon?' Myka's throat felt dry as she called out to writer.

Helena slowly turned on the spot to face the woman of her dreams.

'Well I… I just assumed ….you wouldn't want me to stay after…my uh….well what I said.' Helena looked at her feet. Her lack of grammatical ability was astounding.

'You jump to conclusions a lot don't you.' Myka cocked her head and gave the brit a warm smile.

Helena laughed nervously. 'I guess I do. Just another of my finest character traits.' The writer bit her lip….was it bad to be joking right now?

'Hmmm.' Myka had no further reply.

The writer wrung her hands together…wow what was happening to her suave persona and confidence. Only Myka Bering could reduce her to this blubbering mess.

'Soooo.' Helena swung on her heels.

'So.' Myka copied the older woman's tone. 'Shall we go somewhere a little more private?' The brunette looked at her surrounding friends.

Helena nodded still unsure of which way the conversation was going to go and opened the dining room door offering for Myka to go through first.

Receiving a sly wink from Pete and Claudia Myka lead the writer into the library far away from prying eyes and eager listening ears.

Helena followed a metre behind the brunette in silence. How the hell was Myka going to react…maybe she should apologise for the outburst.

The Victorian closed the library door …. 'Myka…I'm so sorry …I'

Before the writer could utter another word the taller curly haired agent pinned the Victorian up against the door and crushed her lips into the brit's soft pink skin.

Slammed back against the door Helena had little time to compute what was happening …all she knew was her senses were going into overdrive filled completely with Myka.

Myka pulled back and looked in the writer's dark chocolate eyes. 'Don't ever fucking apologise for what you just said out there.' Unable to stay apart for another second the younger agent kissed the writer again.

'Never.' Helena's voice was husky and breathless against the other woman's lips. Her mind was reeling, completely overwhelmed, it was everything she ever wanted. Lips still locked the Victorian reached around the agent in her arms and pinched her own wrist. It hurt. The writer thanked the Gods she wasn't dreaming.

Needing to come up for oxygen Myka reluctantly pulled back once more. Her heart was pounding.

'What made you come back today?' The younger agent twiddled a strand of the writer's hair eager to maintain contact. She had only just got her girl back; she was not going to let her go very quickly.

'Let's just say I saw a future without you in it …and I realised that couldn't possibly happen.' Helena pulled the agent closer. 'I really do mean it Myka Bering. I love you so very much. I always have.'

Myka audibly sighed….'Helena this is possibly the best Christmas present I have ever been given.'

'Phew…that's a spot of luck because I didn't get time to get anything on the way.' Helena grinned at the beaming woman in front of her.

'That's absolutely fine by me…. Do I get to unwrap you later?' Myka purred with confidence into the wide eyed writer's ear.

'Darling…I would be most disappointed if you didn't.' Helena growled causing the heat to rise again in the younger agent.

Myka raised her hands to drape her arms around the writer's neck, as she did the agent's sleeve fell back revealing the gold bangle that had haunted Helena's visions.

Helena caught sight of the shimmering gold and gently took the other woman's hand in her own to take a closer look. 'Darling, did you know this bracelet isn't just a simple piece of jewellery?'

The younger agent shook her head confused as she let Helena unclasp the bangle.

Helena turned the ornate piece in her hand and pointed to an engraved symbol of a sun on the back. ' Artie would quite possibly kill me if he knew I had this. I took it from Warehouse 12 when we were in Egypt. I wanted you to have it….it is fit for a queen after all.'

Myka looked ever more confused. 'Helena? Is this an artefact?'

Laughing Helena nodded. 'Yes darling…it's very special. This bracelet was forged in the heat of the Egyptian sun blessed by the sun God Ra for Queen Cleopatra herself.'

'Helena you can't be serious?' Myka ran her finger over the bangle's gold edge.

'I most certainly am my love. I told you …fit for a queen.' Helena watched the agent blush before continuing. 'It was a present from Antony as a reminder of his undying love for his Queen before he left for war. She demanded him not to leave but still he went.' Helena lowered her voice, conscious that she had similarly left Myka, but for much lesser a reason. 'What Cleopatra never knew ….and never found out was that this bracelet was not a goodbye…it was a promise sealed with magic, a promise that he would return to his love…a blessing from the Gods.'

Myka stayed silent listening to her story teller, her green eyes fixed on the writer's pools of black.

'Had Antony returned he would have taken the Queen for his own.' Helena took the younger agents hand and placed the bangle upside down on her smooth palm. 'Watch.' Helena wriggled her eyebrows at the curious brunette.

The writer pressed her index finger against the emblem of the sun and reached with her thumb and other forefinger towards the further edges of the piece of jewellery and pushed all three points at exactly the same time. With the tiniest of clicks the bracelet began to glow.

Myka starred down at the metal in awe as the bracelet grew warm in the palm of her hand. The gold turned soft and like a snake it began to coil from both ends. The younger agent could do nothing but keep starring at the object. The metal continued to spiral and weave when suddenly it split into three pieces and in blinding flash the artefact was done.

Myka opened her eyes and looked at her hand, her precious gift from Helena had slimmed down to make a thinner bracelet and there lying by the piece of jewellery were two identical gold rings.

'Helena what does this mean?' Myka spoke with her heart pounding as she balanced the new items in her hand.

'Whatever you want it to mean Myka.' Helena placed her hand over Myka's covering the jewellery.

The younger agent pulled Helena into another hug and felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. 'I want it to be a promise that you will never leave me again.'

Helena wrapped her arms around the taller women's waist tightly. 'I promise Myka. With all my heart I promise.'

'So you're home?' Myka felt choked.

'I am most definitely home darling. Finally …it has been a long journey to get here my love…but finally I am home.' Helena reached up and kissed the agents soft cheek.

'IHelena?' Myka mumble into the writer's next trying to hide her happy tears.

'Yes darling?' Helena urged the beautiful woman to look at her.

'I really love you too.' Myka grinned at the writer as Helena wiped away her fallen tears.

The few words uttered from the brunettes lips wrapped around the writer's heart.

'Bloody hell this really is bloody good Christmas.' Helena laughed her own tears forming in her eyes.

Myka leaned back and beamed at the happy victorian. 'It's the best ever.' The younger agent agreed.

'Merry Christmas sweetheart.' Helena _spoke with an earnestness that could not be mistaken_.

'Merry Christmas Helena Wells.' Myka grinned capturing the writer's sparkling midnight eyes.

Melting into a further embrace the two women kissed falling back against the door. For both women the world was now how it was meant to be….a world with a future glowing brightly far off into the distance.

…

…

Meanwhile just other side of the wooden obstruction Claudia, Pete and Steve stand in a line, ears pressed firmly against the library door...

'Awwww…I think Myka just said she loved Helena too!' Claudia whispered excitedly patting her hands together.

'I knew it!' Pete gave a silent woop in the air. 'Wait…. I can't hear anything now…it's gone silent?' Pete pressed his face closer to the door.

'Dur I wonder why!? They're probably at it right now.' Steve playfully slapped the other guy.

'Ewww dudes…they're like my sisters…please no gross images.' Claudia stood back shuddering at the thought of what her ear may have just been next to.

'This is so awesome….finally I get to go to a lesbian wedding.' Pete looked dreamily toward the ceiling.

Steve rolled his eyes. 'Lattimer you are completely perverted.'

'I know.' Pete hung his head like a scolded puppy.

'I feel so happy.' Claudia stood back from the door, straightened her back and pronounced at the top of her voice..… '_**God Bless us everyone!'**_

'Okkkkayyyy… where did that come from you weirdo?' Steve laughed shaking his head at the shock on the red heads face.

'Dude ! I actually don't know... it totally just popped out of my mouth.' Claudia opened and shut her mouth repeatedly to check all was working properly.

Pete however could only laugh as he sheepishly tucked a shimmering first edition of Charles Dickens 'A Christmas Carol' deeper into his shirt pocket, a grin breaking out across his face.


End file.
